Simple Bar and Sun

A sketch of Cuba

There was flat sunshine falling to the ground as sharply as weapons, which reminded me that Meursault murdered a man because the sunlight was intensely bright.

There was an open bar facing the sunny dirt street. Backgrounded by the pastel-blue painted wall, a grey-haired man with glasses was standing behind the wooden counter. The shelves were almost empty, he had practically nothing but a couple of bottles of rum.

In the simple bar, there was a crappy table by the sun where a black-haired man was wasted. His fishy eyes were trying to focus on the amber liquid in his tumbler on the table.

“Why do they drink?” The bartender repeated my question. “Because they have lots of things they want to forget.”

He poured his brown rum into my glass. I emptied it and walked away into the sunshine again.

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